


there’s happiness because of you

by theankletattoo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sappy, Title from a Taylor Swift Song, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, circular endings because i am that bitch, soft and comforting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theankletattoo/pseuds/theankletattoo
Summary: Thursday mornings have always been their favourite.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89





	there’s happiness because of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falsegoodnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsegoodnight/gifts).



> ris, u are one of my favourite people and i hope these words i wrote for u succeed in telling u that. happy birthday u goose. i love u <3
> 
> thank you [sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz) for looking over this !!!

Nothing compares to lazy Thursday mornings.

There’s a sweet pain bruising across his jaw, feathery hair brushing his nose, tickling his ears, smell of apples and jasmine oil invading his nose, eyes opening to see his lover’s face tucked into his neck, sharp teeth and soft lips planting bruise after bruise on his moon pale skin.

“Louis,” he rasps, voice cracking lightly, sourness of morning breath stuck to the roof of his mouth, mouth curving into a smile even before the veil of sleep is lifted.

Louis stills, then presses another kiss and slumps down, body half thrown over his, heartbeats thrumming against each other’s torso. “Good morning, Haz,” he lazily says into his shoulder, sighing softly, voice sweet with love.

“Good morning, babe. Budge off now, I need to brush my teeth,” he snorts, carding his fingers through the dark auburn hair, scratching lightly, not really objecting the weight of his body blanketing his.

“Hmph, in a minute,” he murmurs, knowing very well that his rose pink request will be indulged. 

There are not many hours when he feels at ease, chest loose and not tight with knots, the curve of his mouth easy and open, eyes no longer holding back all his love.

He watches the smooth plane of Louis’ back glowing in the dusty sunshine seeping through their plum curtains, feeling the butterflies and muscles of his stomach flutter — his fingers dance over the golden skin, trying to wave the dust away, searching for stardust to sprinkle across his boy’s body.

“Stop doing that.” 

Harry gets chastised by him, his soft palm flat on his stomach, rubbing circles, warming up his cold skin, calming the clenching and unclenching of his muscles, excitement mellowing out into familiar contentment.

His laugh melts into daylight. “Let’s wake up, baby?” He weakly tries, not really wanting to get up but they both know, if they stay any longer in bed the chances of getting out of their door are very, very slim.

Louis sighs, sulky and forlorn, inching lower, his lips a little dry and chapped, dragging across his torso, brushing faintly over his light brown nipples, pressing an open mouthed kiss on his belly button. “Yeah, okay,” he gives in, putty in his hands, happy as long as he’s touching some part of Harry.

“Then get off me, you lug,” he teases, pouting at the loss of Louis’ body as soon as he’s up and gone. 

He rolls out of the bed, almost falling on his face, the sullen pout sitting on the edges of his red cupid’s bow. He twists to relieve the sore muscles of his back, sighing as they give in and release all the tension, vertebrae popping with a crack.

His footsteps are heavy but the giddiness in his tummy doesn’t cease, the wings wildly flap, spreading out — there’s a flock of birds in him, the fluttering is far too free and fevered to come from something as tender as a lone butterfly.

All his feelings amplify around Louis, it is no surprise that the butterfly has morphed into a bird. It’d be a white dove or a proud peacock — its train of blue and green brushing his heart, pushing emotions right up his throat, tongue heavy with all the words he can’t find to capture _this_ love.

Louis grins at him with toothpaste smudged on his cheek, foam running down one side out of his mouth and he feels a sense of belonging fill him up to the brim. His soul is fucking glowing with happiness.

Harry nudges his shoulder, stupidly wagging his eyebrows. 

They are very unsexy, making retching noises and spitting out paste, pulling the most ugliest faces, looking up their nostrils for gunk and it’s so fucking unglamorous but he thinks he could burst from the joy he feels bubbling in him.

“I love you,” he breathes, patting his face dry with the towel, smile pressed into the soft linen of it, taking a deep breath.

Slender arms wrap around his waist, unshaved cheeks nuzzling his nape, thin, pink lips pressing themselves all over his back, as if he is trying to leave behind stars all over. 

“I love you too, darling.”

The exchange, the confession, the promise — it is pure. There is no sin in their love. The bird in him sings.

They stand there, in the middle of their white tiled, white lit bathroom, holding each other, bodies gently swaying to the song being written with every beat of their heat, a melody thrumming in the hot rush of blood in blue-green veins, smiles splitting their faces, features displaying the most sincerest of love. 

It’s almost painful how much love lies between them. 

Harry touches the fading red marks on his jaw, thumbs at it with his rough fingertips, trying to see what is it that makes Louis shine so bright when his eyes fall on him. 

His heart bears a carved hollow and Louis’ heart fits in it perfectly.

There is an entire day ahead of them, demanding their energy and time, hectic enough to tire them down to their very bone marrow but for now, with Louis in his arms, he is safe. 

He is safe and warm and content and so in love that it hurts. They’ve managed to build themselves a home in each other, and there it is — love lining the walls, the corners where the paint is turning sooty, behind the peeling wallpaper, the broken flower pot and the mud on the carpet. It is everywhere and there is no place he would rather be.

Love in the air doesn’t feel like a silly concept at all.

Harry kisses him and the kiss is one that speaks of familiarity and domesticity — _good morning, good night, let’s cook together, I heard a bad joke and thought of you, want to finish my ice cream?_

When they finally let go of each other, turning to complete their respective routines, the glee on his face is sickening.

Louis swats his bum with the hand towel and yeah.

Nothing compares to lazy Thursday mornings.

**Author's Note:**

> [tweet](https://twitter.com/theankletattoo/status/1343290430339698689?s=19) [fic post](https://hadestyles.tumblr.com/post/638802139023654912)


End file.
